


Three Minutes to Midnight

by hotot



Series: Now Kiss [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Developing Relationship, Drabble, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, I'm such a sap, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotot/pseuds/hotot
Summary: It's Fixer's first New Year's Eve in 210 years. Some countdowns are better than others.Prompt fill: New Year's Kiss. Was supposed to be 500 words but after submitting the prompt I made it longer.





	

Many things changed since the world ended, but some things remained exactly the same. For instance, people still celebrated winter-season holidays, and rung in the new year with copious amounts of substance use and lots of yelling. People didn't so much celebrate as scream the last hellish year out of existence, only to welcome the next, equally shitty one with a grim, manic sort of glee.

The best party in Boston was at the Third Rail, of course, and of course Hancock was running the show. The whole gang was there-- Nick, Piper, RJ, Cait. Fixer even managed to drag Preston away from the Castle for the night, along with a contingent of Minutemen who didn’t have family to spend the holiday with. Magnolia was dressed to the nines, and sounded like an angel when she sang, sparking on the stage like some kind of jeweled flower. The sight of Dogmeat making his rounds, decked out in an almost-clean bandana printed with little snowflakes and begging treats and scratches from everyone in the room brought a smile to her face.

Fixer _didn’t_ spot the familiar flash of sunglasses, or a pompadour wig or bald head, and felt a surge of disappointment which she quickly swept aside as the party began to really swing.

She adjusted her blue sequins dress, feeling too exposed as Hancock pulled her up on the stage while he made what was apparently his customary New Year’s Mayoral speech. Fixer was the guest of honor, the Woman out of Time, the General of the Minutemen and the Scourge of the Institute. People toasted her name, her real one, not her code name, and she felt another flash of totally unfounded disappointment at that, and Hancock asked her if there were any old world New Year's traditions they should know about. She laughed, and leaned into the mic, cleared her throat.

“Uh...People used to kiss at midnight,” she supplied. The crowd was silent for a moment, and then burst into wild cheers and wolf whistles that made her cheeks burn, covering her embarrassed grin with one hand, waving them off with the other. Nick helped her down the stage like a goddamn gentleman, and someone handed her a glass of yellow, bubbly liquid that smelled like cheap wine run through a nuka-mixer, though Whitechapel Charlie assured anyone in shouting distance that it was genuine champagne.

Fixer drank, and laughed, danced in the press of the crowd. Hancock got a dance, of course, as did Piper, and Nick. Preston sat with his cadre of Minutemen and RJ watched Magnolia for most of the evening, apparently lost in thought.

Fixer saw the flash of mirrored sunglasses and that bald head as she finished her fourth drink, and couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. She shouldn’t have doubted him. Her friend was dressed as a Minutemen, and she wondered how long he’d been there. Deacon waded through the crowd as everyone prepared for the countdown, another tradition that had apparently survived the apocalypse. He slung an arm around her shoulders when he reached her, and she let her head fall to his shoulder.

“Five!”

“Didn’t think you’d show,” she said.

“Four!”

“And miss this old world spectacle?” he said, but he wasn't looking at the party.

“Three!”

Somewhere behind them, a glass shattered and people cheered.

“Two!”

“Old world spectacle? You talking about me, or the party?”

“One!”

“You, of course,” he drawled, and squeezed her shoulders.

She turned to him with a grin amid the cheering and the bellows of a happy new year, but her laugh faded to a huff of surprise when she saw the way his sunglasses slipped down his nose. Her breath hitched and something impulsive burst in her chest as she met the rarity of his eyes. They shone bright blue in the warm gloom of the bar, so deeply sad and wise, even though that crooked grin--it was no wonder he always kept them hidden. Must be hard to stay unremarkable with eyes like that.

His head tilted toward her, almost a question.

 _Yes._ Fixer had slept through two-hundred New Years, and woke up to find the world had ended. What else did she have to lose?

_Only your closest friend._

She rose on her toes, bracing a hand against Deacon’s bicep as he gripped her elbow. His lips parted, he turned his head, and their mouths met as the crowd howled in the new year. Maybe others kissed at midnight, too, but Fixer didn’t notice because Deacon’s arm tightened around her waist--  _when had it found its way there?_ and the sandpaper of his stubble rubbed against her chin, his lips warm and firm against her's. He tasted like smoke and sweet, artificial mint from his gum.

They broke apart too soon _,_ and he hung on to her waist a moment too long. Something like surprise flitted across his features as he searched her eyes, but he recovered with a wink, pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and sauntered away.

Fixer swayed on unsteady feet as she watched him walk up the stairs, mouth hanging slightly open.

Was he _blushing_?

Later, she found her spy smoking in the alley by Bobbi’s old place.

“You know,” he said, dropping the butt and grinding out the cherry with the toe of his sneaker, “I almost didn’t recognize you in that dress. Maybe I should get one.”

“High praise from a master of disguise,” she said, standing awkwardly in the ally mouth, hugging herself. She gave him plenty of room to maneuver, making sure he didn’t feel cornered, lest she spook him in to using the stealth boy she’s given him for Christmas. He’d mentioned the urge to bolt a few times, and she didn’t think it was a lie. “Was that why it took you so long to find me?”

He shrugged, and came closer, entering her personal space. “I was around,” he said. “I liked watching you having a good time. Fun old world tradition, that count down.”

“Indeed. Pretty close to other New Years I’ve had… Except one thing.”

“Oh? What’s that?” His arm braced on the wall, leaning into her space so her breath hitched again, and his glasses slipped down his nose _again_. To get such an obviously intentional look at his eyes made the night a truly special occasion... Though, how he saw in the dark with those things on, she would never know.

Fixer’s mouth twitched as she raised her wrist to check the time on her pip-boy. “The Third Rail's clocks were wrong,” she said. “According to _my_ clock, there are still three minutes to midnight.”

Deacon reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She shivered, and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug. His arms draped around her shoulders and she rested her cheek on his chest. Not the hugging type, her ass. Just another lie.

His voice was a warm rubmel against her cheek, and she sighed as his arms squeezed her shoulders. “You know, I always figured time was something of an illusion _,”_ he said. “Take you, for example. You’ve missed what, two-hundred New Year's eves?"

"Two-hundred and ten," she corrected, as if he didn't know.

"And yet, here you are." He laughed a little, like he didn't quite believe. "Time’s just _amazing_ like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hate how relevant the title is. I'm not normally such a sentimental holiday sap, but god I needed to fill this prompt while I watch 2016 die in a fire and then LAUNCH ITS BLIGHTED ASHES INTO THE SUN. Happy New Year. Keep surviving.


End file.
